


Escape the Day

by sansapotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:27:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2328602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/pseuds/sansapotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Littlefinger brought Sansa to the Wall before the Vale?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape the Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheEagleGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/gifts).



> I play fast and loose with canon here, so don't mind that. 
> 
> The prompt was: Can you possibly write a fic where Littlefinger takes Sansa to the Wall before the Eyrie and she sees Jon again, and realizes that the only way Jon will fight for her to take her from Littlefinger is if she seduces him?  
> and another:Can you write a story where Sansa finds out who Jon is (Rhegar's son) before he does and is conflicted on whether or not to tell him, and now that she knows he's not her brother she starts feeling things for him?

“Winter has already come to the Wall, we have nothing finer to offer.” Jon said as Lord Baelish looked disdainfully at the stew before him. Sansa could recall the look on Jon’s face when apologized as a boy, like the time he hid in the crypts frightening her so bad she was cross for days. She knew the look well enough to know he didn’t mean the words to be apologetic, and she was all the more thankful that Lord Baelish had brought her so far North.

She hadn’t corrected Lord Baelish when he called Jon her brother. She’d so long thought her family dead and gone that the mere thought of seeing him again warmed her heart. If it warmed his too she did not know. He commanded the Wall, to welcome them at all seemed to cause conflict among his men, still that he was near, alive, and so honest contented her. The bread was stale, and the stew consisted of more broth than venison but it reminded her of home. 

“It’s perfect,” she said, thanking him as graciously as she could. If she lost her courtesies what would she have after all? If she treated him as a Lord, the way his men should treat him, perhaps they would be less adverse to her presence at the Wall. 

Littlefinger considered the Wall to be a diversion. To sail all the way here, farthest from the crown before taking her South, she knew little more than that. She was closer to Winterfell than she’d been in what felt like forever, if she went South she was certain she would never return again. Knowing the outcome was one thing, but she had gotten away once, she was almost certain she could do it again. A diversion to Littlefinger held little interest, it was too cold for comfort so far North, his face twisted when she asked Jon to take her to the top of the Wall. To hold her back would raise suspicion. 

Jon wasn’t entirely keen on the idea, he offered his arm to her but did not walk closer to her than necessary. She stopped the moment they left the tower to look to the sky. It started to snow and she could have wept. Jon froze beside her, perhaps he thought she realized how cold it truly was for he said, “we can go back.”

“Oh please no,” she insisted. “It’s just that-you’ll think me silly.” Even Robb would have thought her to be acting like a little girl, she couldn’t expect Jon to understand.

“As you wish,” he said leading her forward. Nobody made an effort to speak to her, or acknowledged her to begin with. She wouldn’t have minded some conversation, for each time she tried to speak to Jon his replies were short and curt. She didn’t know what to expect, she was never his favorite. What had she done in the past to warrant any sort of warmth? He was not Robb anymore than she was Arya. 

The wind bit at her cheeks on the ground, and she pulled her furs tighter, trying move the collar to protect her ears. Jon dropped her arm to open the winch, and she took the opportunity to really look at the Wall. Even with her head tipped back all the way she could scarcely see the top, her ancestors built it, the ice melted at the touch of her hand, wetting her glove and making her gasp. Silent as he was with her, Jon was ever patient as she inspected the Wall. 

The winch wobbled, instinctively her hands reached for balance. Jon was so still she would have thought him made of ice as well. Had he always been so cold, were she Robb, or Bran, or Arya would she receive this reaction? Wind bit at her cheeks when she lost the protection of the lift, but Gods it was lovely.

From so high up the snow on the ground sparked like diamonds.She could just see the red leaves of a weirwood if she turned South of the Wall she could almost pretend to see Winterfell. Jon’s thumb brushed against her cheek, she hadn’t even realized she was crying. “You can see the whole world from here.” She whispered, smiling softly when the steeliness of his gaze melted, then she saw the half-brother she remembered.

“Aye,” Jon agreed with a familiar solemn look. One she remembered her father wearing, he shifted beside her, moving so she could take in the warmth of his cloak as well as her own. It was the first time in a long time she was embraced by someone she could trust. 

“I didn’t kill him,” she said when the silence from the edge of the world became too much. She worried the question would hang over her forever. She didn’t want Jon thinking such things of her.

“I know,” Jon said. 

“Lord Baelish plans to leave in a fortnight, I don’t want to go with him.” She confessed. He would offer to keep her here, no matter who she was, Jon wouldn’t let Littlefinger take her away.

“It’s not safe here.” Jon shook his head, she could feel the movement in his shoulder. “Winter is coming Sansa, wherever he takes you will be safer than this place.” He believed it too. 

“It’s more dangerous in the South than you know Jon,” she said. “You don’t trust him.” 

“I trust him to keep you from dying.” And she knew she could not press him further. He must have taken what she said to heart, or perhaps he’d been planning it all along, for he insisted on guarding her door personally. He gave her his own chamber, no one could say it would be proper for her to stay in the same rooms as Lord Baelish. As soon as they made their way back down the Wall Jon’s mask went up again, she could recognize it as such now. Nobody argued when he said she would take his rooms, and Lord Baelish was placed nearly across the keep. 

He stayed in the hall all night.

The next day her muscles ached from the cold but she was intent on observing the happenings at Castle Black. Perhaps she would find a way to convince Jon to let her stay. If she knew what the Watch had need of she could make herself useful. The men were getting hungry, but she could not produce food out of thin air; they were cold, tired, overworked, they were growing old. All problems she could not solve. Then there was other news, word of Jon.

He was recently returned from North of the Wall. It was why the free folk were staying, why there were more mouths to feed according to the men. What’s more he had broken his vows. The wildlings spoke of it most, for it was a wildling girl that Jon had broken his vows for. Kissed by Fire they said, she died, but he rescued her people. 

It was Lord Baelish who uncovered the details of his parentage, going through the library he found the absent Maester’s records. He seemed disappointed at first, not that he would admit to it, nor would she remark on it. Then she found herself concerned for Jon, if what Littlefinger thought was true Jon was the true King. What if he planned to kill Jon as he conspired to kill Joffrey? Would he use her to help?

Sleep did not come to her easy that night. Knowing Jon was just out of reach, possibly in danger, knowing he wasn’t her brother but her cousin. Gods, she wished she could tell him of the potential plot against his life without revealing the truth of his parents. 

By the fifth day the whispers found their way to him anyway. Littlefinger’s work, of that she was sure. That evening she coaxed him into the room, he needed comfort, rest. He would not find that in the hall. “If you insist on staying awake I would have you warm.” She said, hoping that demanding such a thing would force his hand. He would not do it for himself, but he followed the order easily.

When he fell asleep in the chair, only marginally more comfortable than the floor, and only marginally less comfortable than the mattress, she took a moment to truly look at him. In the years that they had been apart he’d grown more handsome than before, more than that he’d grown into a man. He was a warrior, with scars to show for his battles, she ran her hand down the one over his eye. She would have to ask him how he got it. In sleep his head dipped to follow the warmth of her hand. 

It was madness to act this way. She forced herself away and to the bed, instead of finding an escape she dreamt of dragons. 

He took her to the Godswood, where he’d sworn his vows, and tried his hardest to hide his surprise when she admitted she had taken to the Old Gods as well. “I prayed for Winterfell and they brought me to you.” The confession drew a weak smile, she pulled his gloved hand into hers and his smile broadened. Under the cover of the trees perhaps he could pretend he was still Ned Stark’s son, and she could really believe he wasn’t.

The affection she felt when she saw him only seemed to grow over her stay. He was braver than any of the knights she met along the Kingsroad, far braver than those of the Kingsguard. He was raised to be a good man, with honor; likely that was why he was so hurt to find out her father was not his. She was safe with him too, of that she was certain, and she had not been certain of such a thing since Lady lost her head.

On the seventh day she convinced Jon to sleep beside her. He would keep her warm, and she could keep him grounded. Worry for him consumed her every thought. He was still adjusting to the knowledge, after believing one thing for so long it would be difficult to reconcile.

“It matters who raised you,” she told him that night with her back to his. “It matters who you’ve become.” His hand found hers, the burnt one, “my father would be proud of you.” And when she woke his arm was wrapped around her middle, and his cock against her back. When she was with Tyrion she would leave the bed the moment she woke, lest he decide to take her maidenhead the moment he woke. She pretended to sleep until Jon rose.

“We leave in less than a sennight my Lady,” Littlefinger told her as they ate stale bread and porridge. She was sure she didn’t imagine Jon’s glare, but he left the table, and her. He’d been neglecting his duties.

“May I ask where we are going?”

“Exactly where you’re expected to be. We’re going to the Vale.” He said, “it would do you good to be with your family.” 

“If the crown expects me there how would I be safe?” If she could find a flaw in the plan perhaps Jon would realize how dangerous it would be for her to leave. 

“Why do you think sweetling?”

Why was it safe? “It’s impossible to enter the Vale,” she answered. “If the crown comes we’ll know before they arrive?”

“Good,”

“But what’s to stop the Lords from writing to the Queen?”

“We’ll hide you in plain sight.”

Jon was much more receptive to the idea. “It’s where fa-your father was fostered,” he said calmly. “Your mother’s sister is there as well.”

“I’ll never be able to come back.” She said softly, her back was to him again. 

“The Vale was once part of the North,” Jon reasoned. 

“You’d let me go?” She said, feeling the hitch in her voice. “All I’ve wanted was to go home, and now that I’m so close you’d let someone take me away?”

“It’s for the best Sansa. You’re not a child anymore, what you want isn’t always what’s important.” The steeled off tone was back, it was almost like a week hadn’t gone by. She wanted to send him away, back to the hall, if he refused to give her sympathy. A part of her considered making her way to the flat chair by the hearth. If he didn’t consider her a child why was he treating her like one? Tears wouldn’t get her anywhere.

Tears aren't a woman's only weapon.

The day before they left Petyr gave her a bottle of dye from Lys. Her hair went dark and she understood what he meant about hiding in plain sight. 

“You’ll be my daughter, my natural daughter.” A bastard.

“A Stone,” she said.

“That’s right.” He praised her cleverness. “What would you like to be called?”

“Could I be Catelyn, for my mother?” He frowned.

“It’s a bit obvious,” of course it was. “Would you like to be Alayne, for my mother?”

“Alayne Stone?” She didn’t want to be anyone else. She wanted to rinse the dye from her hair, she wanted to stay in the North, she wanted to be Sansa Stark.

She played Sansa Stark’s game, but she had to try once more. If Jon would keep her here she wouldn’t have to be anyone else. The idea had come to her when she heard about that girl. The one who was kissed by fire, Jon broke his vows with her once. He saved an entire population after that, because he loved her. Perhaps if he laid with her he would be inclined to save her.

She had stripped down to her shift, and tucked herself under the furs. Jon pushed the door open, and froze. “Sansa?” It was impossible to ignore her own name, she looked up and smiled in a way she hoped looked more like Margaery Tyrell than Sansa Stark. “What happened to your hair?”

“It’s part of my disguise, do you like it?” his hand raised like he meant to reach out, to touch the tips of her hair, instead it settled at his side once more. Her heart still stuttered at the thought.

“It’s different,”

“It’s meant to be. I’m not Sansa Stark anymore.” With that he truly approached, hand cradling her face, staring so fiercely her heart started to race.

“You will always be Sansa Stark.” Her hands came up to his chest, clinging to his jerkin. 

“If I leave this place I won’t,” she said, eyes darting up to hold his. This will work, it has to. “Please don’t let him take me away.” 

His lips were chapped and warm against hers, one moment tense, the next they parted against hers. Jon still wore his gloves, one hand on her waist, one still holding her face. She wouldn’t have to pretend he was the Knight of Flowers, she might even remember this fondly. She reached up to slip her shift down her shoulders when he stilled. 

“Sansa stop,” he pulled the sleeve back into place. “This is wrong.” Slowly he backed toward the hearth.

“You are not my brother, if that’s what concerns you.” She took two steps for every one of his.

“As good as,” he said. “You must go with him, you won’t be safe here.”

Humiliation washed over her. Robb hadn’t saved her in the past, why should she expect Jon to be any different? Stupid really to think he would be. 

“So you’ll save the wildlings because you shared your furs with one woman. But you’ll send me away, though you once called me sister?”

“It’s for the best,” he tried to insist.

“Would you send Arya away? Or Bran, or Rickon?” She wanted her words to cut.

He was silent, and shamefaced.  
“I thought as much.” She pulled her dressing gown on, well aware of the chill now. “You were right this was a mistake. After tomorrow you won’t see me again.” She hurried into her boots, hoping to leave before Jon found his words.

“Stay,” he said watching as she reached for the door. “I’ll keep watch.”

Lord Snow saw her party off the next morning. Lord Baelish fussed over her cloak, her hair; he spoke of the new home she would have. She permitted the attentions, encouraged them even, for if she didn’t have the distraction surely she would plead to stay at Castle Black. 

The Lord Commander watched from the gate when their horses took off. Lord Baelish thanked him for the hospitality with Sansa, Alayne, at his side. If he looked at her she wouldn’t have known, her eyes stayed down. It was good practice after all, a baseborn girl shouldn't meet any Lord’s eyes. She took her mount, and refused to look back. What if he wasn’t even watching her go, it would only sting more. Worse, what if he was?

Sansa Stark arrived at the Wall, but Alayne Stone was leaving it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://www.sansa-potter.tumblr.com) if you want to visit!
> 
> title from MS MR Bones


End file.
